ow East Lynne is not entailed, neither is it mortgaged
to anything like its value, though the latter fact, as you may imagine,
is not patent to the world. When I bought it at a bargain, eighteen
years ago, you were the lawyer on the other side, I remember."

"My father," smiled Mr. Carlyle. "I was a child at the time."

"Of course, I ought to have said your father. By selling East Lynne, a
few thousands will come into my hands, after claims on it are settled; I
have no other means of raising the wind, and that is why I have resolved
to part with it. But now, understand, if it were known abroad that East
Lynne is going from me, I should have a hornet's nest about my ears; so
that it must be disposed of _privately_. Do you comprehend?"

"Perfectly," replied Mr. Carlyle.

"I would as soon you bought it as anyone else, if, as you say, we can
agree about terms."

"What does your lordship expect for it--at a rough estimate?"

"For particulars I must refer you to my men of business, Warburton &
Ware. Not less than seventy thousand pounds."

"Too much, my lord," cried Mr. Carlyle, decisively.

"And that's not its value," returned the earl.

"These forced sales never do fetch their value," answered the
plain-speaking lawyer. "Until this hint was given me by Beauchamp, I had
thought East Lynne was settled upon your lordship's daughter."

"There's nothing settled on her," rejoined the earl, the contraction
on his brow standing out more plainly. "That comes of your thoughtless
runaway marriages. I fell in love with General Conway's daughter, and
she ran away with me, like a fool; that is, we were both fools together
for our pains. The general objected to me and said I must sow my wild
oats before he would give me Mary; so I took her to Gretna Green, and
she became Countess of Mount Severn, without a settlement. It was an
unfortunate affair, taking one thing with another. When her elopement
was made known to the general, it killed him."

"Killed him!" interrupted Mr. Carlyle.

"It did. He had disease of the heart, and the excitement brought on the
crisis. My poor wife never was happy from that hour; she blamed herself
for her father's death, and I believe it led to her own. She was ill for
years; the doctors called it consumption; but it was more like a wasting
insensibly away, and consumption never had been in her family. No luck
ever attends runaway marriages; I have noticed it since, in many, many
instances; somethin